


First Impressions

by jellytot



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pre-Slash, attempted humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellytot/pseuds/jellytot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras meet for the first time on a politics course at university.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions

Enjolras sighs again and taps his pen against his desk impatiently, ignoring the look of exasperation that Marius sends him. It's the first day of his politics degree and he wants to _learn_ something already, but all they've done so far is suffer through a talk on classroom rules and expectations, and now the lecturer is calling the register and they are actually expected to _wave_ at him when their name is called. _Wave_. Like they are a bunch of primary school children and not the future of British politics. 

"Enjolras?" The lecturer calls, completely butchering the pronunciation. With yet another sigh, Enjolras half raises his hand and very deliberately _does not_ wave it. 

"I pronounced that completely wrong didn't I?" The lecturer asks sheepishly. 

"Yes." Enjolras informs him, somewhat sharply. "But it doesn't matter," he adds hurriedly, because if anything can worsen his current mood, it is the ordeal of trying to get a British person to say his name correctly. 

"No, no. Do tell me how to say it, I think it's only polite that I pronounce my students' names properly," the lecturer insists. 

And while Enjolras actually appreciates this sentiment, he is quite determined to be annoyed by now. So he smirks and says his name in the most _French_ way he can manage, rolling the r and running the letters together. The lecturer blinks at him and Enjolras sighs once again, taking pity and sounding out "En-jol-ras."

"Enjolras," the lecturer repeats, and it's far from perfect but it's a big improvement, so Enjolras nods. 

"But most people just call me Enj," he admits, because as much as he hates that nickname it is far preferable to going through all that nonsense again. 

The lecturer nods, makes a note on his register and moves on. Several names later, Enjolras' attention is captured again when he hears the lecturer exclaim "So many French names in this class! Grantaire?" 

A boy with a messy mop of dark curls, slouched in his chair several rows in front _salutes_ cheerfully and Enjolras glares at him, because he's clearly not taking this seriously. "But most people call me R," the boy informs, and Enjolras glares harder because how do you even get 'R' from 'Grantaire'? It's completely ridiculous and - oh - 

And he's so surprised by the sudden understanding of the joke, and the fact that such a clever pun came from this ridiculous boy that Enjolras does something completely against his better judgement, and laughs. 

The boy turns to look at him - as do several of his classmates and _of course_ those morons don't get the joke - a grin spreading across his face. Enjolras quickly schools his features back into a glare and turns away from the boy to explain to Marius, who is giving him a questioning look, but not before he sees the boy _wink_ at him. Actually. Wink. 

Enjolras does not blush.

-x-

Grantaire slouches in his chair, doodling absently on the paper in front of him, listening with vague amusement as a rather irate sounding boy tries to teach their lecturer to pronounce his incredibly French name. He doesn't think that anything that's been mentioned so far has actually related to politics, but he couldn't say for sure. He has exactly zero interest in politics, or indeed any aspect of university, and is only here on the insistence of his parents. He plans to be thrown off the course before the end of the week. 

"Grantaire?" The lecturer calls, apparently having moved on from his failed attempts at learning French. Grantaire gives a cheerfully mocking salute. 

"But most people call me R," he quips, and is surprised to hear someone laugh behind him, as very few people ever understand that joke. He presumes it must be the boy with the French name, and turns with a grin. 

A boy with messy blonde hair and dark brown eyes is staring at him, with a distinctly surprised look on his face, which does nothing to stop Grantaire from noticing how ridiculously attractive he is. As he meets the boy's eyes, Enjolras glares at him, before quickly turning to say something to his friend. 

Undeterred, Grantaire winks at him as he turns away, and from the way the boy's cheeks colour, he knows that he was seen. 

-x-

Enjolras leans against the wall at the back of the room, his arms crossed against his chest, unable to believe that he is actually playing _people bingo_ (1). His classmates are running around the place asking each other inane questions like "do you have any pets?" and "did you travel by bike today?" and _this is not what university was supposed to be like goddamnit_. 

Marius, the damned traitor, has been talking to a pretty little blonde girl for the past five minutes, and Enjolras is glaring at him when he is jolted out of his sulking by an arm being slung over his shoulders and he glares up into the face of the annoyingly funny boy from earlier. "I'm guessing that you speak another language, _Enjolras_?" He asks, mimicking the perfect French pronunciation of the name that Enjolras had used earlier. 

"Yes," Enjolras replies tersely, begrudging even the slightest involvement in this ridiculous game. 

Grantaire nods in satisfaction and writes in the appropriate box on his piece of paper. Enjolras glances down and sees that the boy has simply written 'Enj'. He raises an eyebrow at this casual and presumptive use of his nickname, but Grantaire doesn't notice. He is focused on Enjolras' own sheet of paper. 

"I speak French, too," he says pointedly, nodding to the 'speaks another language' box. 

"Congratulations," Enjolras mutters, making absolutely no move to write anything down. 

When Grantaire realises that Enjolras has no intention of adding his name to the sheet of paper he simply continues to stare at him, for so long that Enjolras gives a huff of exasperation and scribbles 'Grantaire' in the appropriate box. He simply _refuses_ to write 'R'. 

Grantaire gives another pleased little nod. "I do love people bingo," he says conversationally, and Enjolras can't tell if he's joking but another glance of his paper suggests not as most of his boxes are full. In fact - 

"Marius plays an instrument," he informs Grantaire, pointing at the final empty box on the other boy's sheet. "You win." 

"Thanks," Grantaire grins widely at him once again, and Enjolras most definitely does not notice how blue his eyes are up close. 

"Don't thank me," he replies flatly. "Maybe we can do some actual work now." And with that he shoves his sheet of paper into Grantaire's chest and stalks back to his seat.

-x- 

In amusement, Grantaire watches Enjolras storm away from him, dragging his friend away from a pretty little blonde thing on the way back to his seat. He looks down at the sheet of paper where his name is written in neat handwriting which somehow manages to convey the writer's annoyance. He thinks that maybe he could stick with the politics degree for a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> (1)For anyone who has never experienced the joys of people bingo, it's an ice-breaking activity that teachers often play with new classes. People have a list of details such as the ones mentioned in the fic and have to find a different member of the class to fit each detail by talking to everyone. It's about as fun as it sounds. 
> 
> Reading back through this I realise I may have slightly over-used the italics, but Enjolras is just like 110% _done_ okay?


End file.
